


Cielo y Trueno

by The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja



Category: Bleach
Genre: Abuse, Awkward Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Innocence, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja/pseuds/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd only come in her cell to play his cruel game—to lie and tell her Ichigo Kurosaki was dead, just to see her reaction—and to piss off Ulquiorra. </p><p>Grimmjow never expected that he'd end up visiting Orihime every day—nor did he ever think he'd fall in love with those docile, yet stormy gray eyes. </p><p>She didn't think she'd fall for his calculating cerulean irises either. </p><p>Grimmhime. </p><p>Short chapters—long story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck Encouragement—Sadism Was Better

**Author's Note:**

> Four things:
> 
> 1\. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is such a bitch and I love him for that.
> 
> 2\. This is going to be one hella slow-burn story and yes, even in this first chapter, the romance is pretty much nonexistent. Beware, though, it will be coming up, hence this being a hardcore Grimmhime story, just much later. So yes, Grimmjow is a total asshole, because that's just how he is.
> 
> 3\. Orihime may seem hella out of character, but this is totally how I imagine her to act if someone (CHAPTER SPOILER) lied to her the way Grimmjow had, especially regarding a subject this sensitive. Same goes for Grimmjow, but I swear he'll be acting more Grimmjow-esque (read: violent) next chapter.
> 
> 4\. I've only watched parts of the anime in the English dubbed version, and have only read bits and pieces of the manga (mainly anything and everything supporting Ichihime), so um, don't hate me if I don't use honorifics (even though Grimmjow doesn't like 'em) or someone is slightly OOC because of the English interpretation. Also, this is crucial as to why I write Orihime's eyes as a silvery gray as opposed to how they are brown in the manga.
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy this story, and if you did, please don't forget to review and/or favorite/follow! ;)
> 
> I do not own Bleach.

You should've seen her face.

Oh, you should've seen Orihime's _face_ when he'd told her that he'd killed Ichigo Kurosaki.

He hadn't, of course. Hell, he hadn't even _left_ Las Noches in the past two days, but causing this human woman distress was worth being sheltered.

In all honesty, Aizen had made his orders clear when he said to keep the woman in prime condition, and perhaps causing her emotional distress wasn't the best way in doing so, and sure, Ulquiorra would probably warrant him a distant, albeit furious glare for tormenting his charge (he preferred to do that himself), but he, Grimmjow, was bored. Sadism was his personal favorite pastime, even though that was common to most of the Espadas.

All it took was a bit of Ichigo's torn-up shihakushō sleeve with a smear of blood he'd stolen from Yammy during a fight (that Ichigo had won, no less), and every ounce of light that filtered through the girl's fog gray eyes was flicked out.

Her irises faded to a dull smoke color and in their replacement, tears began to fill her eyes. Her skin paled to a bone-white and the intake of breath she took sounded like she had run out of air, like the pain she felt was suffocating her.

Grimmjow smirked. How he relished in her agony, how he savored her anguish. It filled him, made him complete, as if he'd never ever borne a Hollow hole in his abdomen. He closed his eyes, grinning like a madman as he threw the remnants of the shihakushō at her, and she flinched, edging away from the telling cloth.

A moment later, between labored breaths, she grabbed the black fabric, examining it with a keen eye.

He felt his heartbeat pick up a bit, but he was confident, though. There was no telling that that wasn't Ichigo's clothing, so it wasn't like she would see through his lie. Fuck, Yammy had even complained that it _smelled_ of the substitute soul reaper.

As she continued to scrutinize the shihakushō, he was tempted to slip out of Orihime's cell. His job was done, but for some unforeseen reason, he felt a little prick stab somewhere inside of him before he turned to leave. He watched her sniff of what she thought was all that remained of Ichigo Kurosaki, her frown deepening until it seemed to cause a ravine on her prettily-defined face.

Oh, he wanted to see her final reaction.

Inwardly smirking, he turned around to face her.

It ought to be good.

Suddenly, the burnt-orange-haired girl turned to face him, too, tucking the fabric in one of the folds in the skirt of her dress.

Her eyes had changed from a midnight fog to an electrified thundercloud, glaring lightning bolts and daggers at him.

Not the least bit intimidated, Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. What now?

Her mouth, already frowning, formed an even deeper crevice in her face. She clutched her fists tightly, and her pale face was turning sunburnt red in anger.

He was slightly taken aback, and he was sure it showed on his face.

What happened to the somber, defeated and depressed girl from a moment before?

What happened to the gentle, soft, easily manipulated, determined girl whose powers Aizen spoke highly of?

Where had she gone, and why had she been replaced with this torch of gray fire?

He was too taken aback to do anything, to hardly move. Whereas normally, he would've pinned anyone who questioned and accused him with their eyes like that to the wall, but—but—seeing this girl like that, his senses abandoned him for a moment.

Grimmjow had trouble reverting to and maintaining a neutral expression as she took a step closer to him, her boots slapping the cement floor in purebred fury.

Leaning close enough for him to twist her nose, she whispered quietly,

"Ichigo Kurosaki is _not_ dead."


	2. What Was Her Skull Fucking Made Of?

Grimmjow blinked, his momentary disbelief melting off of him like butter on a scalding frying pan. Roaring, he grabbed the orange-haired girl's shoulder and slammed her against the wall, smiling when her body ricocheted off the cement and she winced in pain.

" _What_ did you just say?" he demanded, speaking slowly, lacing his words in venom. He leaned close to her face, his cerulean eyes widening in a madman fashion.

Even though she was shaking, Orihime held his gaze. Her voice wobbling a bit, she repeated herself. "Ichigo is not dead."

Grimmjow huffed. How _dare_ this—this— _lowly human woman_ speak to him like that? Sure, he meant the whole thing as a joke at first—a sadistic one at that— but he was _far_ from joking now.

Putting more pressure on the hand that cupped her shoulder, he growled, "And you would know that, _how_ , woman?"  He spat out the last word as if it was an insult.

Orihime gulped, and averted her eyes to the ground, sounding more as if she was speaking to herself than answering him. "I—I can't believe I forgot to—to try and sense his reiatsu.  He's still alive—I'm sure of it."

This perked him up a bit. She could _still sense_ his reiatsu? He smirked; that piece of information would be very helpful if he happened to get bored again.  Deciding to play around, he twisted her arm roughly before lifting her a few feet off the ground and releasing his hold on her; she dropped to the cement floor like a stone.  Somehow, she fell headfirst, and her hand slammed onto the ground harder than he intended, which indeed was _very_ hard.

Nevertheless, she got back up, unfazed, and turned to face the only window in her cell.  She stared outside to the never-ending, unchanging gray sands of Hueco Mundo.  It was as if nothing affected her anymore—like she had lost all hope here in her prison.

For the second time that day, Grimmjow was surprised.  Why wasn’t she writhing in pain, nursing a possibly fractured skull, or at the very least, a black and blue bruise?  Perhaps her weird Shun Shun Rikka powers had something to do with it.

Deciding to test his theory, and just because he felt like it, Grimmjow hesitated in the orange-haired girl’s cell for a moment longer, taking full advantage of her unawareness.  Rearing his leg, he landed a firm kick to Orihime’s head, surprised to see no magic-y Santen Kesshun shield instinctively form over her.  Instead, his foot slammed straight into her skull, and he almost felt a whisper of pain.

_Damn, what was her skull fucking_ made _of_?

Orihime turned around quickly, and he was met with silvery gray eyes.  She gave a slightly uncomfortable laugh.  He found that sort of odd—wasn't she hella pissed or something at him for lying to her?  Could she really rebound that fast?

“Were—were you trying to kick me, Grimmjow?”  Her smile fell, but her face remained bashful.  “I have a very hard head, you see.”

_Hard head_ ?  Her excuse for not being able to feel one of his goddamn _kicks was because she had a_ hard head?!  What the hell?  What was _wrong_ with that idiot Kurosaki’s friends?

He muttered a petulant, “Tch,” before turning around towards the cell door.  He was becoming bored again.  As he slammed the door behind him, he made a mental note to visit this girl’s cell when he was bored at a later time—there was definitely the prospect of testing how much damage her pretty little ‘hard head’ could take.

Later, though.

As he wandered down the innumerable halls of Las Noches, Grimmjow shook his head in confusion and thought to himself,

_Strange woman.  Very strange._


	3. The Fuck Are You Staring At?

He crept up on the cell door, pressing his ears against the cold metal surface to hear what muffled voices said on the inside.

" . . . Eat, woman. I assume I've told you of the consequences enough times, so they do not bear repeating. Do not make me have to remind of them once more," Ulquiorra's monotonous voice echoed from inside the cell.

There was no reply from the woman, just the clinking of wheels rolling on the ground.

Grimmjow plastered himself against the wall as he heard the Cuatro Espada's footsteps resound against the floor. He edged away from the door as he watched Ulquiorra swing the slab of metal open, exiting the cell. His hands were dug deeply into his pockets as he faced the wall in front of him, before turning away.

The Sexta Espada waited until Ulquiorra was fully turned around before he grasped the doorknob that led to the woman's cell, more silent than he had ever been.

Without a backward glance, Ulquiorra drawled, "You are not permitted to have entrance to that room." He barely acknowledged Grimmjow as he walked down the hall and out of sight, his comment still lingering in the area.

 _Shit_ , Grimmjow thought to himself. How the fuck did Ulquiorra know that he was there? Stupid bastard, always thought he was above everyone else, above all the turmoil that Las Noches wrought upon its inhabitants.

He growled to himself. Besides, who the _hell_ was Ulquiorra, telling Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez what he could and could not do? He hadn't even been planning to go in that woman's cell anyways—he'd just been passing through when he heard Ulquiorra's monotonous voice pierce through the door like a dull dagger.

An angry roar poised on his lips, Grimmjow kicked open the door, only to find that stupid orange-haired woman staring at the moon again. The food Ulquiorra had brought her remained still untouched.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. A scream of terror or a shout of fear would do just nicely.

Instead, he was greeted with a clueless smile, somehow void of any emotion when she finally turned around. Her lips held an empty smile and her gray eyes stared at him blankly, although he could have sworn he saw something like a flash of anger tearing through.

"Oh," she sighed, turning back towards the moon. "Grimmjow, you came back . . . again."

That last word made him bristle. Releasing the growl that he'd held in, he grabbed the woman by the head and held her high in the air until her emotionless silver eyes lined up with his.

He huffed, snorting in her face. "Don't think you're special, _princess_ , just because I came here yesterday." He lifted her a bit higher before letting go of her skull and dropping her straight to the ground. A glimmer of satisfaction coursed inside of him when he realized she hadn't fallen on her supposedly 'hard head' this time, but instead, on her knees.

The woman gasped and brought her legs close to her chest, as she blew on her bloody kneecaps to ease the pain. Under her breath, she muttered something of the likes of, "Sōten Kisshun, I reject," and a moment later, a golden aura surrounded her legs. The blood, as well as any scrapes she'd garnered beforehand, were gone.

Watching her, Grimmjow glanced at his left arm, the one she had regenerated for him. He twisted his fingers into a fist, before staring at it in wonderment, as he had done many times before. He could hardly believe it was really there.

Again, he turned his attention to the woman, who had risen toward her food cart and stared at her plate that consisted of what looked like inky pig slop. Aizen had promised it was filled with nutrients, but if Grimmjow had to eat something, it sure as hell it wouldn't be as disgusting as that.

She stared at the plate in front of her, before her wandering, ashen eyes found his. She kept her attention on him for what he considered to be a second too long, so he turned towards her and barked, "The fuck are you staring at?" Her eyes, filled with absolutely nothing but sadness and the smidge of hope, made him feel uncomfortable.

Quietly, she looked at her plate and muttered, "N—nothing."

Having nothing better to do while she ate, Grimmjow sauntered over to the only worthy piece of furniture in her room—her couch, and sprawled on top of it, propping his feet up on one of the armrests. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He'd had a long day of training with Nnoitra and Aizen, and relaxation felt downright necessary for survival.

The air in this room felt different somehow—and smelled different too. It was pleasant, warm, delicate, and at the same time, sweet and strong too—damn!—it smelled like—like—that idiotic woman!

Hmph, it was only fitting that her scent permeated the air—she _was_ in here all day. It must get pretty boring. He knew Ulquiorra wasn't one for empathy, but Grimmjow knew the kind of hell he went through when Aizen stupidly forced him to remain in Las Noches all day. Nevertheless, it wasn't any of his business, and for that matter, he didn't really care—right? Nobody told him what to do—not Aizen, and certainly not Ulquiorra. Suddenly, an idea pierced his head—one so defiant, it was delicious.

"Listen," he growled, after a moment. He squeezed his eyes tighter. "That bitch Ulquiorra gets hella pissed when I come in here—so listen to me. Whatever the fuck he tells you, ignore him. I don't give a shit if you eat your food or not—but he does. Don't even _think_ of shoving another morsel of that crap into your mouth. If you so much as _nibble_ on something he brings, I'll personally bang that 'hard head' of yours so many times into the wall that whatever brain you have left in that dopey skull of yours will fall out."

There. Defiant, _and_ cruel.

Grimmjow opened his eyes slightly, to see the woman staring at him with a surprised look, a spoonful of slop a mere inch from her mouth. She looked at him with a fragment of worry in her eyes. "Then—then what do you expect me to eat? This is all I am allowed to have."

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "Tch. Probably all you deserve." She still gazed at him expectantly. "Whatever—I'll bring you something. Anything to piss off that bastard."

She sighed, after a flash of surprise shot through her eyes. Her eyes betrayed a heated debate going on through her head. She seemed to want to defy the authority of Las Noches—to prove she wasn't some sort of defeated doll—but at the same time, she didn't want to suffer the wrath of her mono-emotioned caretaker. "But—but what will Ulquiorra say?" Her slightly defiant tone voiced other complaints. _Besides, I don't want to be your puppet for amusement_.

He resisted the urge to throttle the woman then and there for her disrespectfully annoying tone, but instead, rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Do I look like I fucking care?"

The woman paused a moment before shaking her head. "All right." She put the spoon down and resumed her position by the barred window to stare at the moon again.

"I wasn't giving you a choice, princess," he grunted. "You're gonna do everything I say, no matter what."

This was kind of perfect. He got to disobey Aizen and _piss off_ Ulquiorra, too. Sure, he'd have to find some other shit for the girl to eat, but it was a small price to pay.

 _Shit_ , he realized, groaning. _Now I'll have to visit this airhead of a girl every day_.

Grimmjow didn't mind, though.

Visiting the girl meant he still got to make Ulquiorra upset.

It's not he _enjoyed_ her presence or anything—right?


	4. What The Fuck Are You Doing?

_Screech. Screech._

The wheels of Ulquiorra's food cart scraped against the vastly silent halls of Hueco Mundo, echoing in all directions—perfect for Grimmjow, who was two corridors over. The grinding wheels—begging for oil—could be heard from miles away, which told him exactly when the Cuatro Espada would be bringing the woman food.

He had his bag of 'replacement food' ready, so that the woman wouldn't have to eat the shit that Ulquiorra brought—effectively pissing him off to high hell.

Strung through the belt of his hakama, was the light gray bag of 'replacement food'. Grimmjow wasn't one for eating in general—and why would he be? He was an Arrancar, after all—so he wasn't exactly sure what humans would eat, nor was he sure on where to find human food. He had been fully intent on sneaking into Aizen's quarters and raiding it to see if it contained any form of nourishment—but the guards that blockaded the room proved to be too many. Stupidly, after that, he'd realized that souls like Aizen needn't eat either, so there was bound to be no food anyway.

In the end, all that had filled his bag was a few tidbits of . . . well, he wasn't sure _what_ it was, but it resembled boiled branches of the tree-like minerals that littered the dunes of Hueco Mundo.

He'd crept out of Las Noches a few minutes prior to snap off one of the twigs from the trees and had flung it into one of the heated geysers that he had found behind the estate, the hot steam boiling it. This had turned the dull rock somewhat crystalline, and it bent like wood. He still didn't know what it was called, though.

Humans could eat that, right?

He waited in his corridor for a few minutes longer, before creeping out to see Ulquiorra exiting the cell that belonged to the woman. His hands, once again, were slung deep into his pockets. He walked at a steady pace out the hall and out of sight.

When he was sure that the Cuatro Espada was gone, Grimmjow leaped to the front of the cell and kicked it open, not even bothering with the knob.

The woman nearly jumped when she saw him. Her face was covered with a slightly embarrassed blush when she caught him staring at the object in her hand.

Grimmjow bristled. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

The woman dropped the plate of food she had swiped off of Ulquiorra's cart. The plate shattered as it hit the ground. She waved her hands nervously. "Nothing, I—I was just—"

With a roar of disgust, he expertly reached out his hand to grasp her throat as he pinned the orange-haired woman to the wall. He huffed loudly, his voice low and dangerous. "Didn't I tell you not to eat that damn Ulquiorra's food?"

The woman pried at his hands, her fingers wringing in desperation as she tried to free herself. She coughed loudly, each sound dying on her lips as she choked. "Y—yes, you did, bu—but I—I—I didn't know i—f you wo—would actually c—come, so—"

He'd heard enough. Giving her soft throat one last squeeze, he released her, and she collapsed to the ground.

"Tch. I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have." He growled lowly before whipping the bag out of his hakama. "The only reason you're getting this is because . . . " He sputtered for a moment, his brain running in circles as he racked his mind for an excuse. Why _was_ he still doing this? " . . . Because it's entertaining."

The woman's eyes widened as he shook the bag upside down to dispose of its contents. The boiled mineral branches' _clang_ s echoed through the cell as they struck the floor. Grimmjow watched closely as she picked up a slender stalk and examined it with a keen eye, brushing her finger across its smooth surface. She grimaced when she tapped the branch with her fingernail, and a hollow _thud_ resounded. Eating it would be akin to eating a rock.

Again, she twisted the branch and viewed it from another angle. Grimmjow noticed a hint of anger flash in her eyes as she blew a speck of dust off of it. He smirked when her gray eyes nearly _scream_ her thoughts. _I_ — _I can't believe it's come to this . . . I'm eating off the floor . . . like a—an animal._

Holding it up to him, she asked, "What is this, Grimmjow?" Her previously lifeless gray eyes filled with a hint of fury, shimmered with curiosity, and he couldn't help himself from being slightly intrigued—well, as intrigued as such a boring human could be.

Grimmjow was slightly taken aback by the question, and hesitated a bit. What _was_ it that she was eating? All he'd done was collect it, not _name_ it or anything. Turning his head and crossing his hands, he muttered, "Tch. Wouldn't _you_ like to know. Just know that it's better than that shit Ulquiorra brings you." He actually hadn't the slightest idea if whatever he'd brought was better than Ulquiorra's—but there was no way in _fuck_ that he'd give that bastard any appreciation.

The woman looked as if she was about to argue, but he tilted his head and glared at her, his eyes flashing a threatening cerulean. She gulped anxiously before daring to attempt and take a bite of the boiled branch. A _crack_ was heard throughout the room as her teeth clanked on the rough piece of mineral and her teeth ground like a pepper mill as she attempted to chew.

As she worked through the piece of rock—Grimmjow was right, as bland and as mineral-y as it tasted, it was every bit better than the slop Ulquiorra had assigned for her—he swaggered over to her couch and watched her lazily through half-closed eyes.

He observed how her eyes darkened when she had taken her first bite of the tree branch, and how she ground her teeth for several minutes before swallowing a mouthful of mineral gravel, her eyes suddenly becoming pained as some sharp granules poked her throat on the way down, then alighting again when the taste permeated her mouth. Then it would begin again. ( _Seriously_ , thought Grimmjow. _If she likes the taste of a tree branch, what the fuck did the shit Ulquiorra bring taste like_? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.)

She was just so . . . _weird_.

There she was, as happy as a goddamn _clam_ , eating a piece of _rock that looked like a tree branch_ , even though it must have felt like swallowing a scythe ( . . . why did he know how swallowing a scythe felt like?).

Who the fuck _did tha_ _t_?

Okay, sure, he'd given her practically no other choice but to eat it, but still.

That Kurosaki had some _weird_ -ass friends.


	5. He'd Fucking Drop Her—He'd Swear It

****

He wasn't exactly sure why he did it. Okay, he was hardly sure why he did _anything_ —mostly all his actions were instigated by pure instinct rather than prior thought—but still, this was one hell of a thoughtless choice.

It was fun, though.

Grimmjow liked it when she started squirming under his gaze, her body revealing multiple scorch marks from Ulquiorra's punishment for not eating his prepared food, as she glared at him morosely for forcing her to submit to his horrible "defying-Ulquiorra" plan.

The woman could glare all she wanted with those smoke-colored of eyes of her, but it did nothing to deter his cackles. It was comical, really. Did she actually that her menial glower would somehow make him feel guilty in knowing that it was his fault that she nursed such wounds? Did she think that he'd (gag) _thank_ her for providing such entertainment and adhering to his orders? Hell, he had his own Fracción—he was _used_ to having his orders followed.

So her daggerlike frowns were pointless against him. Fuck, he'd hardly even flinch if she'd even tried to go all "Koten Zanshun", or whatever, on him. And why would he? He was the Sexta Espada, after all, not some lowlife who couldn't deflect a tiny fairy-thing being propelled at him.

So, that's what lead him to deliver his next form of punishment—er, entertainment. Aizen hadn't ordered him to do anything to her—hell, he fucking _forbade_ it—but he wasn't about to get bossed around (you know, currently) by some wise-ass Soul Reaper with cool hair. Nevertheless, he'd broken the woman out of her cell and silently used his Sonído to propel them out of Las Noches. A moment afterward, he had zoomed towards the horizon, one hand firmly clasped on her mouth as the other latched onto her wrist.

"Where—where are you taking me, Grimmjow?" she asked, her voice muffled against his arm as his Sonído swept them across the vast, gray dunes of Hueco Mundo.

He was intent on ignoring her, but surprised himself by uttering an eloquent, "Tch." Grimmjow was slightly taken aback, so much so that he almost released the iron grip on the woman's wrist. Since when had his mouth stopped obeying him?

Grimmjow raced across the endless sand, his mind a blur as he dragged the woman past shapeless mineral trees and the occasional boulder, his form blinking in and out of view until he reached his destination.

When he finally arrived, he released the woman from his grasp as his eyes surveyed the area.

This was the perfect spot.

The cliff he'd chosen was long and displayed no sign of a slope other than an abyssal drop. A small stone blew off the ledge in the wind and he'd yet to hear the tiny _plink_! of it crashing onto the ground.

Grimmjow stared at the woman from the corner of his cerulean eyes. She stared at the cliff curiously, and her eyes wandered towards his own. Her unnerving gray-eyed stare forced him to look away.

A moment passed before she asked, "Why did you bring me here?" She blinked owlishly before her eyes found the cliff.

Without answering, he grabbed her waist and held her up high in the air as he sauntered towards the ledge. He wasn't worried about falling down—his Sonído wouldn't fail him—but could the woman survive such a drop? He grinned—that's just what he wanted to find out.

He held her an arm's length away above the abyssal drop, which seemed bottomless and smirked. Grimmjow's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her waist. "I'm gonna drop you."

The woman blinked again, her eyes betraying no emotion. It was as if someone had hewn in twin orbs of silver in place of her pupils, and he could read nothing of them. She didn't answer.

Loosening his grip a bit, he gritted his teeth and repeated himself, growling, "I _said_ , 'I'm gonna drop you'." His eyes flashed with promise.

Once again, she stared at him blankly.

Grimmjow felt his temper flare again. What the goddamn _fuck_? He swore—he'd do it—he _totally_ would. He wasn't some halfwit who would say some shit and not do it—especially in reference to having fun. The woman's despondent reaction was boring—irritating, even. Hell, he'd even gotten a better response when he told her that that punk Kurosaki was _dead_.

He felt the last tendrils of his sanity flee from him as he shook her over the ledge like a rag doll—this woman was not satisfying—his punishing entertainment was utterly ruined. Why was he even hesitating?

Just as he felt his fingers slacken their grip on her waist, the woman whispered, "I don't believe you."

His grip tightened again in surprise. His blue eyes bored into her gray ones. " _What_ did you just say?"

She gulped. "'I don't believe you'."

"Stupid woman," he taunted, his smirk once again returning. "Do you actually think I won't toss you off this damn cliff? You're more pathetic than I thought."

"You won't drop me," she affirmed, eyes twinkling dangerously. "Aizen won't allow you—"

"—You think I give a _shit_ as to what Aizen thinks?"

She continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "And you want too much for Ichigo to come for me so you can battle him—"

"—Tch—you still think he'll come for you? Idiot—I can still fight that ass even with you dead."

The woman once again ignored him—she would pay for that later. "But you'd rather have me alive to show him _when_ he comes so you can taunt him and show off whatever torture you've inflicted—"

"—I'll show you what kind of torture I can inflict!" he growled, his free hand raking across her face.

Five thick rivulets of blood seeped in a diagonal pattern across her prettily-defined features, and the woman winced in pain. He heard her mutter, "Sōten Kisshun, I reject," under her breath as the blood and scratches disappeared without a trace.

 _Damn_ , _damn_ , _damn_! Why'd she have to go and heal herself? The pain he'd wanted her to feel had simply been erased. Pointless.

He snorted dangerously. "You're going to regret that." A single finger that had ensnared her waist removed itself. Only four fingers were the difference between life and death for this woman now.

As if trying to buy herself time, she whispered, as her eyes grew cloudy, "I don't know why, but Grimmjow? I always thought you were different from them. Ulquiorra? He speaks of feelings and tries to denounce their existence. But—but I _can't_ believe that. You—you've had feelings, haven't you, Grimmjow?"

The question was pointless, both he and she knew that, but it took him aback, nevertheless. Feelings? Yes, of course, he'd had feelings—who the hell hadn't ( . . . besides Ulquiorra)? Wasn't it sort of impossible to go on living if you were emotionless?

Instead, he growled, "The only emotions I feel right now are excitement. Wanna know why?" He leaned close to the woman's face, a madman grin growing on his face. "I'm gonna drop you."

Without a second thought, he released his grip on the woman's waist.


	6. She Was Fucking Out of Her Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjow's mind goes on autopilot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is short. Actually, I originally wanted all the chapters to be this length, but sometimes I get carried away. This time I didn't. :P
> 
> Also, forgive me if you find this chapter strange. I'm trying to get back in the groove of this story. (That, and I probably need more sleep.)

 

She plummeted downward without a sound. Grimmjow peered closely and squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression.

The woman's eyes betrayed nothing but confusion and pity. There was no fear. He clenched his teeth and his fingers curled into a familiar fist.

 _"_ Damn you," Grimmjow cursed down the abyss. _What was wrong with her_? For the love of absolute _fuck_ , she was falling down to her death and he had no intention of saving her, whatsoever.

 _So where was the fear_?

He'd gone to such lengths to see terror, fright, alarm, _something_ on her face. It made his blood boil—humans weren't bestial by nature. They were soft, pliable things that shuddered at the nearest speck of blood and fainted at the sight of a severed limb. Humans certainly didn't fall soundlessly to their deaths if someone had thrown them off a cliff. They'd kick and scream and plead for their lives.

This woman defied every aspect of humanity.

In simpler terms, she was out of her fucking mind.

Grimmjow huffed and turned around to leave. He wasn't one to go back on his word if it regarded someone's death and besides, shouldn't she have splattered at the bottom of the cliff by now?

As he skulked across the plains of Hueco Mundo, something constricted in his stomach and he froze, his eyes opened wide in shock. _What the hell_?

A panther through and through, Grimmjow prided himself in living as a being of instinct. He killed who wanted to kill, fought who he wanted to fight.

He was the king.

So he had no explanation when his feet rose off of the ground and propelled his body in flawless Sonído to the edge of the cliff. His mind sought to regain control of his body as he propelled himself down the bluff and caught the seemingly eternally-falling woman by the hand.

"Grimmjow?" the woman asked. Her voice sounded expectant as if she knew he would come.

 _Drop her_ , something inside of him commanded. _You never intended to save her, anyway_.

He couldn't explain why he ignored the voice, and instead swallowed roughly as his mind attempted to weave together an excuse. "Tch. Lord Aizen doesn't want you dead yet."

It was all true.

So why did his stomach continue to churn as he gripped the woman's hand and dragged her alongside him as he Sonídoed across Hueco Mundo's desert?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sonídoed is a word, apparently.


End file.
